They weren’t around when I was growing up but by the 1980’s there were multiple books for young and middle readers in this genre. The basic premise was you were reading along and then you got to pick the direction of the story. The reader would then be directed to a certain page number to continue the story. The original series of Choose Your Own Adventure books sold more than 250 million copies!!
I have been thinking about the paths we each follow in our lives and also wondering how our lives might be different if we had chosen a different path or adventure. This is not about regrets but simply about wondering how our decisions play out in our lives.
This has been on my mind because our oldest grandson just received his acceptance letters giving him the choice of two universities for his undergraduate studies. Both schools are excellent choices and he will no doubt do well at both places. He is an excellent student, especially in science and math, and is planning (at least at this point) to continue on to medical school. Which university will he choose? The cost is approximately the same so that won’t have to affect his decision. His parents are really leaving it up to him to make the decision.
I think back to when I was trying to decide on college. I have two very distinct memories. I think I have written before about my deep love for libraries. The downtown Olivia Raney Library in Raleigh was one of my favorite places as a high school student. There was an entire section of the library down in the basement filled with college catalogs. Remember, this was long before the internet where you can just pull up information on any college in an instant.
I remember sitting and reading through catalogs, trying to find my dream school—meaning the school where I felt I belonged, a school that sounded intriguing. And I found it. A small squarish catalog with only black and white photographs for Black Mountain College. It sounded perfect for me.
There was only one problem. When I explored more I discovered that it no longer existed. It had closed in 1957. I would start my freshman year in 1967—I was only 10 years too late. Disappointment.
I switched gears and told my mother that I wanted to go to NYU. What I think I really wanted at the time was to live in New York City. My mother quickly and wisely informed me that NYU was not an option. I needed to go to a state school that would be affordable for my parents (both who had longed to go to college but their families could not afford it). As my mother accurately pointed out, “North Carolina has excellent state colleges. Pick one.”
And so I did. I attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and it was (and is) an excellent school. In retrospect, I might have thrived more at a smaller school, but UNC and Chapel Hill offered many opportunities for studies as well as friendships which I treasure to this day. I also met my husband there (but that’s another story for another day).
Being a first generation college student, my parents did not have the experience of their own college experiences (and choices) to offer much guidance and my assigned guidance counselor at Carolina viewed me as a pest and told me to stop making appointments to talk with him as I was wasting his time. This was after the third or fourth visit when I wanted to talk (again) about choosing my major.
I originally started in the Nursing School but very quickly (even before orientation ended) realized it was not the path for me. I liked the idea of helping people but did not have the stomach for dealing with blood and enemas and such. I had a romanticized image of the medical profession (thank you, Dr. Kildare and Cherry Ames, Student Nurse). I then decided that a French major would be a great path—but what am I going to do with a degree in that? Remember, these were not exactly visionary times for women students.
I made a brief foray as a possible English major (I have always loved to write and read) and then I found my spot. Having fallen in love with the films of Truffaut and Goddard (not Fellini, whom I detested) put me on a path as a hopeful film maker. I especially loved film editing. I decided to major in RTVMP (Radio, Television and Motion Pictures) with a minor in Political Science. I wanted to make documentary films.
So if this was true then why did I not head straight to California after graduation? That would have put me where films were being made. I just didn’t pick that path. I could not find that next step to lead me in any clear direction.
I had a job making a film with the Appalachian Regional Commission and the NC State Government and we were filming in Western North Carolina, staying at the John Campbell Folk School. I was with a crew making a documentary film. But it rained. And rained. And rained.
We couldn’t film in the rain so a woman at the school (I think her name was Alice) taught me to weave. It not only helped pass the time but I was totally enchanted by it. So from there (we did finish the film) I went to Penland School of Crafts and apprenticed to the weaver Edwina Bringle. I stayed at Penland for a year— or was it two? I no longer recall. It was an inspiring time to be around artists, but I also saw that making a living from your art was not an easy one for most.
There is more to this story but I will stop here. Other choices and paths chosen led me to work in the museum field and then seminary and a “late life” (as they term it) eighteen year career as an Episcopal priest. Some choices I feel I made intentionally; other decisions seemed to happen outside my consciousness. I still find it fascinating that each step we take, conscious or not, leads us on our journey. We are extremely fortunate if these steps lead us into situations that are life-giving. We are all on a pick-a-path journey. We don’t really know where each step will lead but each step definitely leads us.
It seems the real choice is to enjoy where our journey leads. To make thoughtful choices. To try to grow into our true selves.
One of my favorite children’s books is a picture book called Leo the Late Bloomer. I identify so much with that book. I loved reading it to my children when they were young and I still love it. I feel like I am definitely a late bloomer. But I also realize that being a late bloomer is not necessarily a bad path. It seems essential to recognize that even when your choices, your path chosen, is not the one you imagined, it is important to move forward without remorse. A friend in Vermont once gave me some wise advice, “No regrets. Don’t waste your time.”
I wonder if your journey has been what you expected. I wonder what surprises and twists and turns emerged along the way for you. Are you a late bloomer or are you one of those individuals who knew from the time you were eight years old the path you would follow? I hope you have not wasted your time with regrets but made the most important choice: to enjoy and cherish where your journey leads.
I loved the daydream trip this post took me on as I thought about all the twists and turns in my life. Would I do things differently? If I did I would not be where I am today so. Hmmm. So many thoughts are swirling around my brain. Thanks for that!!!!
PS. BIG CONGRATULATIONS to your grandson!